


Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful

by Lilliburlero



Category: Return to Night - Mary Renault
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ferrets, Gen, Hipsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:04:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/pseuds/Lilliburlero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian Fleming goes forth... with his hipster beard and his ferret.</p><p>*</p><p>A birthday gift for Naraht.</p><p>*</p><p>Advisory: ferrets and references to rabbiting therewith, gratuitous Saki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naraht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naraht/gifts).



> Thanks to [oursin](http://oursin.dreamwidth.org/) for the comment which inspired this ficlet.
> 
> Saki's story 'Sredni Vashtar' can be read [here.](http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~rgs/sk-vashtar.html)

In Hoxton, or wherever had replaced it as the desirable district of residence for young bohemians―had she just thought _bohemians_? she had, and there was no going back upon it: Hilary topped up her strong, solacing cup―the tight pink trousers rolled above the ankle, the sky-blue t-shirt sprigged with mauve blooms, the sleeve tattoo, the topknot and heavy square beard would have excited no remark, might even be somewhat démodé. (The beard was rather a shame: what little of his face was visible looked appealing, but one simply couldn’t tell under all that mid-Victorian upholstery: it probably concealed a chin like a jugged hare’s.) And Lynchwyck had its share of second homes owned by sleek, prosperous urbanites, from which eccentrically-apparelled and coiffed offspring issued with moderate regularity. 

But the ferret, a sinuous yellow beast at the end of an extensible lead, might have attracted attention anywhere, though perhaps for different reasons in Gloucestershire than in N1. The young man stopped to converse with a woman clad in the more usual local uniform of cargo trousers and fleece. Hilary found herself dallying, though her tea had gone quite cold―an ex-smoker for more than half a decade, she had never broken the habit of sitting at outdoor café tables―and she'd been due back at the clinic five minutes ago. 

He met her gaze with a cheerful, unaffected grey one and said, ‘Good morning.’ The voice was cultivated and neutral, neither the plummy bray nor the Mockney for which she had instinctively steeled herself.

‘’Morning. Can you still work them,’ she said, getting up and gathering her cardigan very casually, as the animal skittered and sniffed around the base of the cast-iron table, ‘if you treat them like that―like pets, I mean?’

‘I have others that I go rabbiting with. But Sredni Vashtar’s quite useless, poor thing. No instincts. Always has to be dug out; that’s why―’

‘The name, yes.’

‘Oh! No-one ever knew before. Well, except Mum. She suggested it, in fact. Ruins the joke a bit, having to explain.’ The ferret tugged and twined. He bent gracefully to release the leash and gathered it into his arms.

‘I had a―friend,’ she started. She felt heat in her cheeks, glad to be able to address the shapely, shaven nape. How absolutely _absurd_ that she should feel the impulse to conceal what David had been to her, but _boyfriend_ sounded so juvenile for one’s mid-thirties, and _partner_ still carried, for her, an overwhelmingly professional connotation―‘who was a bit of a fan. The Reginald stories are my favourites.’

‘Yes―’ he said, straightening, still vaguely smiling, though he seemed quite to have lost all interest in Edwardian short fiction.

‘I’m Hilary, by the way―Hilary Mansell―I took over Dr Dent’s―’

‘Yes―I know. Sorry,’ he juggled the ferret, which began an ascent of his shoulder, and offered his hand. Its flawless proportions and neat manicure came as something of a surprise at the end of that decorated arm. ‘Julian Fleming.’ Sredni Vashtar settled itself around his neck, to raffish effect, chortling in an unsettling, avian manner. Hilary had thought they screeched. ‘I ought to get this one back in his run. I know he _looks_ perfectly content to be a fur stole―that’s just when he'll make a break for the bushes.’

‘Sredni Vashtar went forth―’ She shuddered, a genuine chill informing the pleasurable horror. ‘I’m running late myself. I’m sure I’ll see you around.’

Later, after that _freakish_ accident, she was able to reassure herself that it was a good thing she’d made his acquaintance when she did.


End file.
